And at Mandarin camp…

Four weeks ago, Paris climbed out of bed, got dressed, washed her face, and brushed her hair and her teeth. She did all of this before I even woke up. It was Paris’s first day of summer camp at San Francisco’s Chinese American International School (CAIS) and she was excited. She ran into my room and woke me, “Mommy, it’s my first day of summer camp! Get up! Get up!”

For many months, I had been preparing Paris for her transition from preschool to camp, telling her that she would be dancing, painting, playing, and cooking. And then I’d sneak in a quick comment: “Oh, and you’ll be learning Mandarin.”

We arrived at camp on time that morning and walked into a room where some 20 kids were bouncing around. A girl walked up and said, “Are you one of the new kids? I’m not!” More girls came up, asking, “Are you new?” They were referring to the fact that they had attended the prior session and Paris hadn’t. Paris’s happiness level instantly dropped from a 10 to a 1.

Next, the teacher, a friendly older woman, approached us and introduced herself in Chinese. She said her name, which sounded something like “Zhin Zhon Zhang Lasha.” I tried to pronounce it but couldn’t. Paris looked dumbfounded. I wanted to cry but somehow I pulled myself together and left Paris in a room with a group of mean girls and a teacher whose name I didn’t even know.

All day I worried about Paris. I was feeling terribly guilty because my mom always sent me to camp when I was a child and I hated it. But I was a shy, introverted child and Paris is a social butterfly. Her preschool teacher called her a leader at graduation. Deep inside me, I knew that she could handle this, and I didn’t want my fears to hold her back.

I arrived back at school, 15 minutes before pickup time at 3 p.m. Paris’s class was on the playground and from a distance I watched her running around. Paris was playing by herself and she continued to do so for the entire 15 minutes. I held back the tears so hard that my head ached.

When I finally went to get her, she seemed sad. In the car, I asked her how school was and she wouldn’t respond. That night when I put Paris to bed, she said, “Mom, I can’t understand the teacher.” My heart sunk but I gave her a strong hug and said, “I promise it will get better.”

The next day, I dropped Paris off at camp and this time no one came up to her, none of the “mean” girls were even interested in her. She wandered off into a corner to play with some blocks. When I picked her up that afternoon, she melted down in the car. “On the playground, I asked everyone to play with me and everyone said no.” She sobbed and sobbed and told a story about a little girl who was wearing a dress that Paris also owns: “I told her that I have the same dress, and the girl said, ‘Well, then I’m never going to wear it again.'”

I felt terrible for my daughter but I was struck by the fact that she asked kids on the playground to play. This was impressive.

On the third day, I dropped Paris off and a girl ran up to her and grabbed her hand. They darted off to the rug and giggled. I nearly did a cartwheel.

When I picked Paris up that afternoon she was playing with other kids. We got into the car and she started to rattle off all this stuff: “I like Beezuz but not Marnie, and George tried to hit me on the bottom and the girls were chasing the boys and then the boys were trying to catch the girls…”

Okay, this sounded all right. She was obviously engaging with other kids. During the following weeks, all Paris talked about when I picked her up at school were her friends and the social dynamics in the classroom and on the playground. It was all about who is whose friend and I’m her friend and not her friend. And today she was nice but she wasn’t nice the day before that.

The strangest thing is that since the first day she has never once complained about the fact that her teachers speak Mandarin. Paris talks Mandarin from time to time, counting to 10, singing songs, dropping in words here and there but she never says that she can’t understand her teacher.

And then yesterday, Paris came home from school and she recounted a story her teacher read to her class. She said that it was about a group of ducks who picked up a turtle and brought him to Disneyland. She was so enthusiastic and excited.